


Healing

by sweetvomit



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10052075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetvomit/pseuds/sweetvomit
Summary: Repairing a broken bond is a difficult and painful journey, but even the smallest step can begin healing old wounds.





	

In the dark and gloom, only the glow of Genji’s cybernetics offers any light to guide his meandering progress, green lights softened by the thin cloth of an oversized shirt and comfortable pants. He takes care to keep his steps soft and silent as he makes his way through the dark barrack corridors, fingers trailing along the wall. It is far enough into the small hours of the night that Genji believes the risk of running into another of Overwatch’s agents is incredibly low. 

But still. He knows just as well that he is not the only agent that finds it difficult to sleep.

The lingering panic of a nightmare still surges underneath his skin, hot and sticky and putrid. He can feel it in the cold sweat still drying on his scalp and the portions of his body that still boast that capability. He can feel in it in the ache of his bones, the burning in his lungs, the twitch of his fingers desperate to curl around the hilt of a familiar blade. It’s deep and festering and threatening to take Genji over.

Fresh air will help clear his head, Genji had decided somewhere between waking with a sharp gasp and draining a bottle of water. Under normal circumstances, he would be loathe to leave his room without his armor, but he needs to feel the air on his face. He will only be out for a few minutes. 

Genji’s chosen refuge is little more than a metal overpass connecting the comms tower to the main base, but cool moonlight filters down from above and the scent of salt lingers in the air. Somewhere in the distance, Genji can hear ocean waves crashing against sheer cliffs. He finds somewhere suitably clean to sit and lets his legs fold underneath his body, eyes closing as he easily adopts a meditative stance. 

It’s almost instantaneous, the way his muscles relax. Tension melts out of his shoulders with each and every careful exhale. Slowly, steadily, the remnants of his dream began to lose their shape and form and drift away. It feels good to let go. 

But all too soon the tranquil isolation is broken.

Genji freezes as footsteps stop right behind him. He expects a question, an accusation, some sort of demand for the reason behind his presence. Instead the footsteps move slightly to his left and a tray is set down beside him. 

“Cannot sleep, brother?”

The familiar voice is soft, even, but careful. Genji doesn't look at Hanzo’s face, not quite sure what he may find in his brother’s eyes and not quite ready to face whatever might be there. Instead, he looks to the tray. Hanzo brought a pot of tea with him, with two identical mugs. “No,” Genji finally says. “Unfortunately not. And you?” He feels naked and exposed. The urge to flee before he can be judged too harshly is incredibly powerful.

“No.” Hanzo slowly sits a respectful distance away from Genji, his legs folded underneath himself. Genji watches from the corner of his vision as Hanzo pours tea into each mug. He doesn't fail to notice Hanzo sweeten one the way that Genji likes before claiming the other for himself. 

Genji also does not fail to notice how Hanzo doesn't look at him and for a moment anger, unreasonable and brilliant and acidic, flushes through his veins. 

But Genji quickly swallows it down. He turns his attention to the empty sky and concentrates on his breathing. He pulls his thoughts back to himself, schools the calm control he worked so hard to learn back into place, recites his master’s teachings until the hot anger cools into something a little prickly, a little wary, but patient. 

Hanzo is not here to criticize Genji or his decisions. He knows that. He can see that. Hanzo made the decision to approach Genji, to join him a moment of vulnerability, when it would have been so much simpler to ignore Genji entirely. But instead he was here, and the mug of tea suddenly feels much more significant than a polite formality and heavier than a peace offering. Genji reaches out to grab the steaming mug and holds it in both hands, close to his face, letting the steam condense on his scarred cheeks. 

“May I ask…?”

Genji jerks his eyes away from a stray cloud to the man beside him, but Hanzo still doesn't look at him. Not entirely. His head has tilted in Genji’s direction ever so slightly, but his eyes remain on the ground and Genji suddenly realizes that it isn't aversion born of disgust that keeps Hanzo’s eyes down, but respect. 

And shame. 

“You can ask.”

Something in Hanzo’s shoulders relax, as if relieved by the unexpected permission, and then tense again. A difficult expression crosses Hanzo’s face and for a moment he struggles with the silence. “The tea- can you feel it?”

“Feel it?” Genji repeats. 

“The heat.”

“Oh.” His eyes drop to the mug in his metal hands. The ceramic is warm underneath the pads of his fingers, like he knows that it should be, like his brain says it should be. Dr. Ziegler had truly worked miracles. “Yes. But it is… different than before. Duller. Temperature, texture, it takes more to feel.”

Hanzo nods and takes in the information silently, his own hands slowly turning his mug in anxious circles. Now that Hanzo is here, now that he has approached Genji of his own free will and expressed something in his new existence, the sudden urge to talk is overwhelming. Genji tries to swallow it down, knows that opening the floodgates now could very well overwhelm his guilt ridden brother, but at the same time he feels desperate, as if he doesn't take this chance now then the old wounds that still smart and fester underneath the skin will never heal. 

“Some days are better than others.” Genji announces and in the corner of his eye, he sees Hanzo shift towards him ever so slightly. “Some days I feel human and it is like nothing changed. I am at peace with who and what I am. But other days are hard. Some nights- some nights it is impossible to sleep.”

Hanzo says nothing and at first Genji believes that he spilled too much too soon and too fast, but when he dares to look at Hanzo’s face once again, it is deeply troubled. So Genji waits. He takes slow and steady sips of his tea, the liquid perfectly sweet on his synthetic tongue, and gives Hanzo all the time he needs to work through his own thoughts and his own emotions. It would be almost peaceful if not for the tension lingering in the air.

“Genji, I-” Hanzo falters, and Genji waits for him to find his tongue. “Does it hurt?” 

As brief as they are, the words spill from Hanzo’s mouth in an urgent rush, frantic and begging for something more than just a simple answer. Genji’s heart aches in his chest, painfully and tragically human. “Hanzo-”

“Genji.” Hanzo’s hands are planted firmly in his lap, his grip so tight on his tea that his knuckles are bone white. “Please. I… I need to know.”

“Hanzo.” Genji repeats himself, voice calm and steady. “Look at me.” 

It takes a very long time, long enough that Genji wonders if Hanzo will simply remain silent with his eyes on the ground, but eventually he turns his head and lifts his eyes to find Genji’s face, taking in the sickly pale skin with all its scars and harsh transitions into black synthetic flesh. Genji holds Hanzo’s gaze for a long moment, until some of the shock has melted out of the eldest Shimada’s face, and then he offers a small, a very small, but reassuring smile. 

“Some days are better than others,” Genji explains slowly, gently, “Angela helps me manage the phantom pain when it becomes too much. It is not without complications, but I am healed, Hanzo, and I am truly at peace with what I am. And with you.”

Genji watches as a wide variety of emotions flicker across Hanzo’s face in the span of a second until it settles onto something that isn’t quite soothed, but is much quieter and softer. Hanzo nods and turns his gaze back to his tea, sipping at it slowly. Genji does the same. They do not speak any further, but the silence and the space between them is peaceful.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written fanfiction before, but this was extremely fun. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
